In Dishonour
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Season 6: Episode 23 "Into the Blue". LT John Stillman watches as Cadet Ryan Stewart and Major Moe Kitchener are permanently dismissed from the Pennsylvania Military Institute, in a solemn and elaborate ceremony called "the Walk of Shame".
1. Chapter 1- The Walk of Shame

**Chapter I- The Walk of Shame**

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**Based off of the TV show "Cold Case", Season 6: Episode 23 "Into the Blue". In the wake of The Philadelphia Police, Homicide Department's latest findings, Cadet Corporal Ryan Stewart of the Class of 2008 and Major Moe Kitchener of the Class of 1972 are dismissed from the Pennsylvania Military Institute. The entire Corps is assembled to witness the event- to expel from their ranks two who have disgraced the Institute. Thus begins the Walk of Shame.**

* * *

It began, as these events always do, with the drums. Beating out a steady, funereal march, the drums could be heard all over campus, along with the shouts of the cadre as the companies of each battalion began to move into position. The Corps moved slowly, but without hesitation- there was a terrible solemnity to the movements of the companies as they headed for the parade ground, a grave sense of purpose as the company commanders and their charges all caught sight of the blue-and-red flashing lights at the edge of the campus. It was true, then, what they were saying in the barracks. Dishonour had come to the Institute.

Lieutenant John Stillman had arrived on campus just before nightfall- Colonel Murillo, Commandant of the Pennsylvania Military Institute, had asked for a few hours' delay so he could make special arrangements given what had just happened- and what would soon be public knowledge no matter what he tried. This past year had been an utter disaster for PMI- one more year like this one, in fact, and odds were there wouldn't be a PMI ever again. Kate Butler had been killed on campus years ago and only just now was it becoming known. Lawrence Gardner had hung himself on campus- and only shortly after his parents had been notified was it discovered his death wasn't a suicide. The names of Kate and Lawrence's murderers had remained hidden until now- but as the Biblical phrase went, "And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free". The truth of what had happened was gonna shake things up, all right. That much was certain for PMI, though nothing else was.

Stillman watched off to the side of the parade ground as the two long lines of blue-gray began to form, the entire Long Blue Line of the Corps assembled for a public dismissal of two of its own. One 2nd class cadet- a junior in civilian terminology- and a member of the Class of 1975, a staff member whose corruption and misdeeds were already proving to be a tremendous embarrassment to the Institute. The Class of 2009 was incensed at the murder of one of their own by another who wore the ring- serious discussions were being held by the current upperclassmen as of late.

The main idea on the table was retaliation- a public rebuke of all the ugly old ideas of Moe Kitchener's PMI- including his xenophobic hatred for women at the Institute. Some upperclassmen, even a few who had supported Kitchener's ideas before, were now considering seriously the idea of publicly supporting the idea of women coming to the Institute. If Moe Kitchener and his vision of PMI opposed that, then the Class of 2009 would oppose him in turn. Lawrence Gardner had been a young man who showed great promise, set to take a Navy commission in June and become a Surface Warfare Officer. He'd been a devout Christian, attending the Anglican chapel at PMI ever since his first Sunday on campus and another Anglican church in his Philadelphia neighborhood since he was two years old. Gardner had also been as loyal a PMI man as any of his classmates had ever met, holding the rank of Cadet Major as the Regimental S-3, Operations Officer.

Plainly put, Lawrence Gardner had earned the respect of his classmates the hard way- the only way at PMI- and shown great promise as a cadet from his earliest days as a knob. He'd held his classmates respect and been one of the most esteemed members of the senior class. Yes, he'd been heavily biased against women at the Institute, and had not been subtle when Kate Butler had been here that he wanted her to leave. But while this wasn't any excuse, Stillman and anyone else who knew much about PMI understood that Lawrence Gardner's views- extreme as they might have been- were hardly uncommon. More than one man who wore the ring felt the way he did. But things were changing. New waves of unrest were shaking up the graduates, and old dissidents from as far back as the Class of '67 were starting to show their faces again. The rumble of dissent could be heard loudest in the Class of 2009, the one taking their diplomas and walking across the stage this coming June. Lawrence Gardner's future had been bright- and because Major Moe Kitchener's heart had been dark, Gardner now had no future at all. The young men of the PMI Class of 2009 were pissed. They wanted somebody's blood for this, and nothing but what was happening tonight could have possibly satisfied them. The top battalion and regimental officers and NCO's in particular moved with a grim sense of purpose as they formed the two long ranks of cadets on the parade ground, stretching outward from near the reviewing stand to just short of the secondary entrance to campus, where a few cars from the Philadelphia Police were ready and waiting. Some of the young men in the Corps were looking forward to this. And all of them were ready to face it.

The weeks and months ahead would be difficult ones. Colonel Murillo was a pillar of strength and confidence as always- his confidence that the Institute could yet weather the storm gave may others hope. He hadn't yet given his opinion on the dissent rising within the Corps- especially among select members of the Class of 2005 and the Class of 2009- but Murillo was coming to understand that something was gonna have to give if the Institute was to survive. If he was the leader many cadets believed him to be, the Colonel would give in to the inevitable and begin to work towards facilitating the admission of women to the Institute at last. It might well mean the difference between the Class of 2009 being the head of the last all-male Corps of Cadets or being the head of the last Corps.

From where he stood to the side of the reviewing stand- nearby Detectives Nick Vera, Will Jeffries and Kat Miller and a handcuffed Ryan Stewart and Major Moe Kitchener- Stillman watched as the regimental commander- a tall, athletic young man distinguished by his slightly more fanciful dress and the silver eagles on his shoulders- strode up to the head of the two long lines of blue after briefly conferring with Colonel Murillo. The regimental commander spoke low, his voice grim, and Murillo answered in much the same tone. There was nothing to be enjoyed about any of this- nothing was sadder, more shameful for all who wore the ring, than the public dismissal of two of the Institute's own. But it was what had to happen; the Honor Code was very clear on that. Those who proved themselves dishonourable had no place at PMI; there were no second chances here. Stillman wondered privately if the world could yet be made to believe that again… or if it wasn't already too late.

Stopping at the head of the two long rows of cadets, the regimental commander halted, executed a perfect right face, and stood stiffly at attention as he began to speak. His harsh, overextended voice- used to singing cadences and calling out commands to a Corps of more than two thousand- could be heard easily across the parade ground, screaming out the findings of the Honour Court.

"Men of the Corps," the Cadet Colonel called, "the Honour Court has met tonight and found Cadet Stewart, R.H. and graduate Kitchener, M.D. guilty of the honor violation of lying. Henceforth their names shall never be spoken by any man from Pennsylvania Military Institute. They will never return to these grounds so long as either of them may live. Their names will be stricken from memory, anathema to anyone who aspires to wear the ring. Let them go from us, and never be heard from again. Let them begin the Walk of Shame."

With a curt nod from Colonel Murillo, the detectives of the Philadelphia Police Homicide Department began to move forward, one to the left and one to the right of each of their two charges. Though Stewart and Kitchener were handcuffed, the detectives had been adamant that these two would not endure the Walk of Shame the traditional way. They would be escorted out by the police or the Walk- which had taken some talking by the Colonel for the detectives to even consider- would not be done at all.

As Major Kitchener was escorted forward and turned right past the regimental commander, beginning his walk down the line, the highest-ranking member of the senior class executed an about face, the first to forever dismiss this member of the Class of 1975 from memory. Ryan Stewart followed behind Kitchener by a few feet, his face drawn and his eyes blank, wide and staring. He did not try to look at the regimental commander, who would have stared through him anyway. Stewart didn't look at anyone. He just stared forward, watching the almost arrogant stride of the Major ahead of him. Kitchener might have still thought he could beat the rap somehow, but Stewart had no illusions. PMI had been the greatest achievement of his life, and one monumentally idiotic mistake had cost him everything.

As Kitchener and Stewart passed between the two rows of cadets- facing each other in pairs, one exactly across from the other- the first cadets on the left and right executed an about face, turning their backs. Then the next two turned, and the next two. Stewart and Kitchener marched down the line, between the ranks of the regiment, two cadets turning away every time as they passed. Stillman watched the ceremony with a grudging sense of awe; he often agreed with his colleagues' belief that these PMI guys were all nuts, but one could not watch such events as this and come away anything but impressed. The Institute made brothers of everyone who earned their place in the Long Blue Line, and if you broke the sacred code of that brotherhood- if you dared to dishonor yourself and thus dishonor the Corps- you were out of the brotherhood like you'd never been there in the first place. You became a non-person, less than nothing and without any chance of redemption in the eyes of the Line. You were done.

The ceremony proceeded in utter silence; no one said a word. The only sounds that could be heard were the idling of the police cars on the far side of the parade ground, right at the edge of campus. That, and the steady beating of the drums as two regimental bandsmen once more took up that funereal march. The flashing lights of the police cars washed over everything. Finally Kitchener reached the end of the line- a very appropriate choice of words indeed, Stillman realized after a moment- and by the time Stewart passed between the last few cadets, the entire Corps had turned their backs. The entire Corps, first the regimental commander and then everyone else two by two, executed an about face. And there would be no turning back.

Finally the Walk of Shame ended, and the drums stopped. The deadly silence this created was ended by the slamming of the police cars' doors, and Stillman listened and watched as the regimental commander dismissed the Corps. The shouts and barks of the cadre and company officers began again, and unit by unit they formed up and began marching back to the barracks. There was no hesitation in anyone's movements, no sign of regret or desire to look back. The Walk of Shame was almost unbearable to watch- even Stillman had sensed what a grim ritual of excommunication it really was- but once it was done, it was done. You returned to your own life and forever after remembered the one the drums had rolled for- and prayed that one day they would never roll for you. The Walk of Shame tonight had been truly unique- Colonel Murillo had mentioned to Stillman that it was the first time the drums rolled for an alumni in all of Institute history.

With a curt nod or two, Colonel Murillo and his staff began to move away as well. The parade ground felt like a graveyard tonight; it was not a place to linger or remain at for long, not if you could help it. Before long the Corps had left, the Philadelphia Police cars had gone, and Stillman's- parked in the visitor's section near the administration building- was the only police vehicle left on campus. He was turning to leave himself when he noticed the regimental commander approaching him. Half-hidden under the black visor of his gray-blue dress cap, the Cadet Colonel's rounded, handsome face was impossible to read in the dark. It looked drawn, tense- like he was under some terrible strain. Stillman had a sense that this young leader had not gotten a lot of sleep lately.

"Well," the young man said as he cleared his throat, "That's that."

Stillman nodded, not sure what to say.

The regimental commander didn't look too sure of himself either- not a feeling someone in his position was used to. He stood at a rather stiff form of "at ease", shifting a little on his feet as he clasped his white-gloved hands behind his back. "Why'd you stick around to watch, sir?" the young leader asked, then added, "If you don't mind me asking, sir."

"I wanted to see what this was about," Stillman said. "Your Commandant was very plain about how important this event is to this school."

"No other college in this country can do what we do," the young man said. "There's nobody quite like us. The Walk of Shame is an Institute tradition. When something like this happens…" he trailed off, sighing and shaking his head. He stood silent for a moment before looking back to Stillman. "Well, when this happens the Walk of Shame has to happen. Especially at a time like this." The regimental commander paused again, but Stillman didn't say anything. He understood how difficult this had to be for the Corps' leader, a young man who clearly felt heavily responsible for what had happened. Then he looked back at Stillman, his eyes dark and troubled, and his voice solemn, hinting at powerful emotions he was fighting to keep in check.

"We have to show this country that not all of us are like them," the regimental commander said. "People need to know that most of us take the Honor Code seriously. And that we put service above personal gain."

Stillman was impressed; he could see the young man meant every word. He thanked the young soon-to-be officer, again preparing to head back to the administration building and head back to the office- and eventually, once some more paperwork was finally done, head for home. But the young man cleared his throat after a moment. "Excuse me, sir. Do you have just a few more moments?"

"I've got a long night ahead of me, son," Stillman said without humor. But he saw nothing but absolute seriousness in the young man's face, so finally Stillman nodded. "What do you need?"

"Have you notified the family?" the regimental commander asked. "Gardner's?"

Stillman frowned, a little puzzled. "We already did a few days ago."

The young man just shook his head. "No, sir, I mean about Maj-" he halted. "About _him_, sir," he corrected, and Stillman realised then just how serious this Honor Code was. Never again would this cadet or anyone else in the Corps speak Major Moe Kitchener's name. Or Ryan Stewart's. They were nothing now. Trying again- he was having real difficulty finding the words he needed to say- the regimental commander said, "I think La- Gardner's folks should know how their son died. That he was murdered. People deserve to know the truth. I…" he halted again, his voice breaking a little, "I doubt that'll make it any better, but at least they'll know."

The young man's voice was tight, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out even if he did know what to say. Stillman wanted to be able to promise yes, but he couldn't. "I can't do that until Major Kitchener is found guilty by a court of law," Stillman said matter-of-factly. "The Walk of Shame doesn't constitute a guilty verdict on the outside, I'm afraid."

"_Christ_," the young man sighed, looking down. "Like I haven't got _enough_ to do," and his voice nearly broke with that last sentence. He seemed to forget Stillman was there for a moment, then looked back up at him, clearing his throat again in a now-obvious struggle to speak. "I won't keep you any longer, sir," he said with a respectful nod, then started to move off.

Curiosity stirred within Stillman; something about the tremble in the young man's voice, the immense hardship with which he was clearly having to face his responsibilities in the Corps and his personal duties at home, made Stillman wonder if he wasn't more than just a conscientious and dutiful Cadet Colonel. Stillman asked his question simply, not wanting to waste time with any beating around the bush. It was ask the question or don't, and this young man would probably appreciate a direct approach best.

"Are you related to Lawrence Gardner, son?" Stillman asked, and the cadet stopped immediately, turning around. His eyes met Stillman's, and the veteran detective noticed the dark, haunted circles under the young man's eyes. His face was drawn with emotion- as if he was bearing some terrible grief that discipline and duty would not let him give in to. Not until he was alone in his room, or in the Institute chapel. There he could safely grieve. But noplace else.

But the regimental commander spoke just a few words, answering the question as simply as it was asked. He held Stillman's gaze as he gave the answer.

"Yes, sir." A second's pause; the pain in his voice was obvious. "He's my brother."

On his way back up the hill that lead down to the parade field, Stillman surveyed the darkened, silent campus. It had a hushed mood about it, the appearance and atmosphere of a school that was not yet sure if it should be fighting to live or waiting to die. The heavy public criticism that had come down on the school for not only 'running out' the first two female cadets but also for not making even a minimal effort to encourage any more to apply was now redoubled with the news of Kate Butler's death. She'd been murdered, and right under the noses of the Corps. Now it had happened again, with the murder of the Regimental S-3 Lawrence Gardner by a staff member- and an Institute grad, no less. Sending him and Stewart on the Walk of Shame would be seen by many as a political gesture and that only, a last-ditch effort to salvage the school's faltering reputation.

But many alumni were incensed over recent events, and the public calls by some members of recent- and even not so recent- graduating classes had the public pausing for thought. It looked like the men of PMI were getting ready to have all but literal civil war over the destiny of PMI. And Stillman figured that if anybody had a chance of saving the school and preserving nearly two hundred years of tradition and history, it was the PMI men themselves. They'd have to make a choice- accept the admission of women to a school that had been all-male its entire history, or be faced with a very displeased Supreme Court and public, falling enrollment, and the inevitable closure of the school after enough years of decline. PMI's future was in the hands of her graduates- it was theirs to salvage or lose. Some, Stillman knew, would fight to the death and even let the school close before ever allowing women to come in the doors again, let alone wear the ring. Some, though, were a little more practical than that. Stillman had a feeling that it would be the newer graduating classes- the young ones, whose minds were not yet clouded by nostalgia and whose young hearts yet held a powerful call for dissent- would be the ones to save PMI in the end if anyone could. Whether they would have the courage to face the wrath of their fathers- so many PMI men of today were the sons of PMI men of yesterday- would remain to be seen.

First Lieutenant Addison, Class of 2005 and the TAC officer on duty that night, was sitting upright behind his desk when Stillman came into the administration building, heading down the hall to where Addison's office was to let him know the Philadelphia Police were done here- for now- and the last of their number was finally leaving.

Addison sighed a little, no doubt in relief, but after a moment Stillman, standing in the doorway, saw that wasn't what it was. The Army lieutenant was tired, and looked stressed beyond his years much as Cadet Colonel Gardner had. Stillman was surprised at that; he hadn't realised Gardner had a brother on campus, especially in so prominent a position. It stood to reason he hadn't been told of this by the other detectives in his office because Cadet Colonel Gardner had already been told of his brother's death, and already questioned about it. He seemed like he'd been very close with his brother Lawrence- the death of the Regimental S-3 clearly pained the other Gardner greatly. But had the regimental commander known anything much of relevance or use to the Kate Butler case, Stillman knew his detectives would have told him. The yet-living Gardner brother must not have known much of use, and no doubt had been too upset to be of much use anyway. He would be having trouble simply functioning day-to-day right now, let alone aiding the investigation of his brother's death. Stillman made a point to ask his detectives about their conversation with him, and what details that yielded. Perhaps Lawrence hadn't told his brother anything of the secrets he knew. Maybe he'd told him a few things. Maybe he'd been meaning to tell his brother everything, but had been trying to think of what to say, and how to say it, when his time was cut short by a senior TAC officer who believed Lawrence knew too much, and was too damn smart not to start asking questions pretty soon. Lawrence Gardner was dead now- what he'd been meaning to tell anyone would never really be known.

"I hope you found everything you needed to," Addison said as he looked up at Stillman. "I'm glad we know what happened to Kate." He paused. "And to Lawrence." Pausing again, the Army lieutenant looked up at the lieutenant from Philadelphia's police. "I think it's better that everybody knows. Hiding things like this just isn't worth it. I think Maj- the TAC we fired today taught us that." Addison paused, frowning. "Jackass. I don't see how he thought a murder was gonna make anything right."

Stillman nodded. "Nothing's worth it if people start getting killed over it, Lieutenant. I'd be just fine if Philly P.D. didn't need a homicide department."

Addison nodded. "I'd agree with that, sir. Death's somethin' you wanna avoid if you can. I should know." His face clouded over; Addison wore a silver Combat Action Badge- an M9 bayonet with a wreath around it- on his dark green dress uniform.

Though he hadn't seen the room of Kate Butler or Lawrence Gardner, and with the murderer of both now known and in handcuffs there seemed little need to go, Stillman suddenly found he wanted to. But the sensitive, thoughtful young man John Stillman had met contrasted sharply with the sexist bigot and devoutly religious cadet who'd been his brother. How could the two have gotten along so well- everything Stillman had noticed all but screamed that the Gardner brothers had been very close- if they weren't much alike? Was the one hiding prejudices of his own- or the other a more thoughtful, sensitive side?

Suddenly having a look at Lawrence Gardner's room seemed like a very good idea.

"Lieutenant," Stillman began, "Would you have a few minutes to open up Lawrence Gardner's room so I can have a look? The Homicide Department will have a lot on their hands with the trials for those two coming up soon. I'd like to make sure we didn't miss anything."

Stillman was really just asking to be polite- it was a formality only. The Philly P.D. had declared both the empty room of Kate Butler and the now-empty room of Lawrence Gardner to be crime scenes; nobody at PMI- cadets or staff- could enter either room without the proper legal permission. Those two rooms belonged to the Philadelphia Police for now.

Even so, Addison got to his feet quickly. "Yes, sir," he said, nodding as he went to a cabinet to get the key that was needed. "Certainly."

The Morrell Hall administration building contained one set of cadet rooms, far up on the third floor. Though space was tighter than in most of the barracks throughout the campus, Regimental Staff never complained, as each cadet got his own room and they could study and hold meetings safely removed from the general goings-on of the Corps. Some disapproved of the regimental commander and his staff being held aloof in such a way, but for all the work they had to do on behalf of the Corps, it made sense that they be given something in return.

Lawrence Gardner's room was on the left, the third one down the hall. Its lock was not even a week old, the second installed in PMI history. Word was that Colonel Murillo was asking the Board of Governors for funds so the entire Corps could have locks on their rooms. Two murders in the past four years was far more than too much, Murillo argued, and some traditions- however hallowed and long-standing- simply needed to go away. The no-lock tradition had met its end and the school would be foolish to ignore that. Stillman agreed- it was the first time he'd heard of the sometimes-pigheaded, notoriously stubborn Commandant doing anything to break from his old habits at all. It had taken the death of two of his charges to force him from his moorings- far too much in Stillman's mind- but at least Murillo was doing something useful instead of kicking and screaming about it. Like so many alumni were doing.

"Have a look around," Addison invited, putting the key in its slot, turning it, and pushing the door open.

Stepping past the TAC officer who had been a senior here just a few years ago, John Stillman looked around what had- until recently- been Lawrence Gardner's room. It was just what you'd expect- spartan accommodations and nothing more. White walls and ceiling, a gray floor painted over hard, old cement. A single, five-drawer wooden dresser stood to the left of the door, and the one bed in the room stood on a bare metal frame with its sheets perfectly made. A blue PMI blanket covered them, pulled so tight over the mattress you could have bounced a quarter off the top.

A single, compact closet with no door stood to the right of the doorway; Gardner's uniforms, pressed and ironed with obsessive neatness, hung from a line of coathangers. The desk was opposite his bed, at the far end of the room, and had a single wooden chair that looked like it had been here since it was donated by the Class of 1903. There was a Bible there, placed in its own reserved spot away from the papers, pens and books. It had sheets of paper tucked into its pages, and seemed to have been used fairly frequently.

Stillman reached down and picked up the red, hardcover Bible. It was old- probably belonged to a relative or ancestor- but was clean and had clearly always been handled with care. Opening it to each point where a piece of paper was tucked into the pages, Stillman found a succession of old program sheets from PMI chapel services as far back as Lawrence Gardner's first year at the Institute. He'd been a Christian to the core, it seemed- enough so that he was willing to slice a girl's hand with his sword as a sophomore, yelling the demand "You hiding from the sight of God?" Hate mail on Saturday, chapel on Sunday. It was a little sickening to even visualize.

But then Stillman turned to page 621, where he found a piece of notebook paper, folded up and tucked away with care. Even at a glance he could see there was writing on it- a letter or note of some kind, perhaps. Stillman glanced at the Psalm that was on this page, its final section underlined in blue pen. "But the king shall rejoice in God; every one that sweareth by him shall glory; but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped."

Now _that_ was interesting.

Removing the folded-up note from the Bible, Stillman set it carefully down on the desk. A man of faith himself, the detective had no desire to mistreat a book that had clearly been among this young man's most prized possessions. Once he unfolded it, Stillman looked down and started to read.

_Jason,_

_I hope you'll accept my apology for not telling you before once you've heard what I have to say. I've been keeping a few things from you for a while now, and I've done a lot of thinking about that choice and why I made it. I have no right to keep secrets from you, not when we have gotten along so well both our lives. You deserve better and that's why I'm going to tell you the truth._

_Major Kitchener didn't kill Kate Butler, but I think he knows who did. I'm not sure, but I think it may have been a cadet. He might even still be here at the Institute. Maybe a classmate of ours, I don't know. But I know Butler didn't go AWOL. I think something else happened to her and we've all been lied to about it for years._

_I know neither of us wanted to see those two girls walk into PMI back when we were sophomores, and you remember like I do that almost the whole junior and senior class threw a party once we heard Butler was gone. I hated Kate Butler, Jason, hated her for breaking tradition and being part of a Supreme Court decision to strong-arm the Institute into letting her go here. One thing I've been keeping from you is that I lied about when Kate Butler got that cut on her hand. I told you I was sure an upperclassman or member of the Honor Guard did it- that was true. I told you I didn't know who it was, and that wasn't. It was me._

_Back then, I was sure that God was on the side of the Institute in its battle to maintain tradition. I was absolutely certain that He would never allow this injustice to take place, and see the side of righteousness through to a swift and rightful victory. I believed Kate Butler and Courtney Gaines snuck in here, women hoping to take the place of men, shaming all mankind with their pridefulness and their hiding from the sight of the Lord. But I don't know now. I wonder if we haven't done some wrong in His eyes after all._

_We are all born of woman, Jason. Every man since the Beginning has been, every man but one. Only Adam himself is the exception, for he was crafted by the hands of God. The Lord may have made man first, but he made woman second, and every man born since Adam owes his existence to a woman. We should perhaps begin to reconsider just what the Lord intended for woman's place in our society._

_The Arab prides himself on keeping woman suppressed, and the decadent princes of the Middle East nations commit blasphemy without shame by making mere playthings of their wives- of which they dare to keep more than one. Let the Arab be sinful if he wishes, and proud of his sin- good Christian men owe it to themselves and the Lord to do better._

_In the Second Great War, General Morrell said when he admitted Negroes to the ranks of his forces that he had room in his army for any man who would fight. Perhaps that is meant to be applied to women, too._

_I came in your room during class yesterday to place this note in your own Bible. I hope you will forgive me for going in your room without your permission- and for not telling you before about my private suspicions about what's really been going on at PMI. Those cops aren't just here because they want the Institute look bad. I think they don't care about that at all, actually. They're snooping around in the affairs of the Institute because Kate Butler was murdered, and they think the ones(s) who did it- and know about it- may still be on this campus._

_They may be right._

_Please come talk to me once you find this note, Jason. There's more I need to tell you. We should talk as soon as possible._

_-Lawrence_

There was no date, but it seemed like the note had been written a few days ago, sometime before Lawrence Gardner died- and it definitely did not paint a picture of a young man who planned on killing himself. This cadet had intended to live. Stillman folded up the note and held it firmly in one hand; this was something Lilly, Nick and the others were definitely going to want to see.

Lieutenant Addison looked at Stillman as the detective started to head back out of the room. "Find what you were looking for?"

The veteran detective nodded. "I think so."

Addison considered asking what that paper in the detective's hand was- he'd seen him take it out of Lawrence Gardner's Bible and read it- but thought better of it. It was probably a personal note of some kind, either to a particular person or simply for Lawrence to read by himself. In any case it wasn't really Addison's business. He wasn't sure how he felt about everything that was happening; next year he might be out of a job. But some things were more important than that- after all, Addison had his commission in the Army, and a good career ahead of him when he rotated back to the 3rd Infantry Division in a year or two. Working for the Institute as a TAC was just the icing on the cake. But the guys still here, some barely a year or two away from commissioning- if things went south for the Institute, what would happen to them? What would it mean for all the guys who had given up four years of freedom in college to come here, choosing the harder path to be the ones who always came out on top?

The Institute had to survive; a way just had to be found. But no one else could be allowed to die for that to happen. If he had to chose between a repeat of these last few years and closing PMI, Addison knew he'd take the later, much as the thought of that pained him. This place was a great school, and Addison found he actually was glad to be back here like this, giving something back to the Institute after all the school had given to him. But it wasn't worth losing any more Kate Butlers or Lawrence Gardners. Two was more than enough.

Moving forward as the detective returned to the Regimental Staff hallway, Addison locked up the room and started heading back downstairs, the detective walking along beside him. They headed downstairs in silence, each man preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Then, back in the hallway, the stoic Homicide Department veteran spoke again, halfway thinking aloud as an earlier question occurred to him.

"Who's Jason, Lieutenant Addison? Know anyone by that name here?"

"He's right over there, sir," Addison said, and Stillman- glancing left at first- noticed they were passing by the Commandant's office. Then he followed the young Army officer's pointing finger to the wall across from that door, where a pyramid-like arrangement of framed photographs hung under a brass plate with the engraved words "WHEN PLACED IN COMMAND- TAKE CHARGE", a few words of advice from PMI's most famous modern graduate- Norman Blackhead- to each year's Regimental Staff.

Stillman turned and for a few moments stood silent, looking over the photos of these solemn, purposeful young men in their iconic blue-gray dress uniforms. One- the Regimental S-3- stared out at Stillman silently, the brass plate underneath reading LAWRENCE GARDNER. Those dark brown, solemn eyes seemed to lock with Stillman's, and what those eyes said- or were trying to say- Stillman wasn't sure. The sight unnerved him slightly, and he resumed looking over the other faces and photographs. Those were the eyes of a dead boy.

Then, up at the top of the pyramid, a photo placed above the others- thus indicating that when you took command, as the saying said, you were at the end of the day on your own- caught Stillman's eye. In an area with good lighting, he noticed right away how much the Regimental Commander's face resembled his brother's. Aside from the Corps' commander having jet-black hair and the S-3 having dark brown, in fact, they looked one step away from identical. They weren't twins- not quite- but close.

"He's commissioning Navy," Addison said. "The both of them were. Regimental CO's going subs, his bro was going surface. They were probably the closest pair of brothers I ever saw come through this place." Addison paused, then started walking back to his office. "It's really too bad about all this."

And under the Regimental Commander's photo, on the brass nameplate bearing the name of this year's Cadet Colonel, John Stillman read the name: JASON GARDNER.


	2. Chapter 2- The Notes

**Chapter II: Notes**

* * *

**Notes:**

**In writing this and my other fanfics about the two final episodes of "Cold Case" Season 6, I have often had to add details and make up some of my own. Other times I have had to change things, because what the show presents us with makes no sense. For instance, Cadet Ryan Stewart is a knob (freshman) in 2005, and a senior in 2009, but he would only have had three years to go and should have already graduated. Also, at a four-year military college like Pennsylvania Military Institute, a senior- which Stewart is said to be in 2009- would NOT be ranked as a Cadet Corporal unless he was a total shitbag and had bottomed out as a promotion prospect in his 2****nd**** year at the Institute. Furthermore, the chronology of "The Long Blue Line" and "Into the Blue" makes no sense. Kate Butler gets her acceptance letter from PMI in 2004 but her first semester there is in 2005; she would have gotten the letter the spring or summer before she was to attend the college.**

**Next, Ryan Stewart, if he was a senior in 2009, would be a classmate of Cadet Major Lawrence Gardner, which is impossible since Gardner was a Cadet Sergeant when Stewart was a knob. A roster Lilly Rush looks over at the end of "The Long Blue Line" lists Gardner as a 4****th**** classmen, which would indeed confirm he is a freshman and classmate of Stewart. It would be impossible, then, for Gardner to have been a Cadet Sergeant when Kate Butler arrived as a knob. You do not hold rank as a first year cadet at a school like PMI, not ever. This was likely just a mistake by the makers of the show, however- Gardner would likely be a sophomore in the flashbacks from 2005, which still wouldn't make sense because he should have graduated in 2007.**

**In writing my fanfics about "The Long Blue Line" and "Into the Blue", I basically ignored these errors and chronological issues. For the episodes to make any sense at all, you just have to accept that Kate Butler arrived at PMI in 2005 and the episodes' "present day" is when they aired, in 2009. It would have been impossible for anyone who was at the Institute when Kate Butler was to be anything but a senior in 2009, and even they should have graduated, so the idea that cadets who were both sophomores and freshman when Kate Butler was at PMI could now be seniors and sophomores has to be ignored also.**

**Anyway, I got the idea for writing this story from Pat Conroy's novel "The Lords of Discipline". Set at the fictional Carolina Military Institute in Charleston, South Carolina (The Citadel by another name) Conroy's novel talks in great detail of the sacred traditions of the Institute, of how fanatical alumni are about it and how some are perhaps literally willing to kill in order to preserve their beloved Institute's traditions and reputation. The upside of colleges like PMI and CMI is that their real-world counterparts really are some of the finest colleges in the United States. Nobody else out of all the colleges in America are anything like them, good or bad, and they have a right to be what they are. For those who attend and don't like it or can't make it, the door is open both ways. What "Cold Case" is likely trying to say is while that is true, and PMI has a right to be proud of itself and what it does, the death of two cadets was completely out of line and in no way worth it. It's a f*cking **_**college**_**. The buck stops when people are dead. Period.**

**The Walk of Shame is borrowed from "The Lords of Discipline", and the short speech Cadet Colonel Jason Gardner makes to the Corps is almost identical to the one that the Honor Court chairman Gauldin Grace makes to the Corps at CMI when a senior cadet is expelled. The Citadel and Virginia Military Institute- PMI's closest real-world counterparts- really do take the Honor Code that seriously. If convicted for an Honor Code violation, you are kicked out and your friends and classmates are obligated to never talk to you or speak your name again. Anyone who takes the Code seriously is likely going to do just that. When you arrive at PMI you are told of the Code and its utter lack of humor, and that public dismissal- having every man in the Corps turn his back on you as you walk out of the school forever- is the only punishment in the book. The Honor Code of these places is not a joke, and anyone who considers going there should be aware of that.**

**I do not know of even one instance in which a VMI, Citadel or other military college graduate who worked for the school was subjected to being drummed out for an Honor Code violation. Likely then the school would just fire him and tell him he isn't welcome anymore, but I felt like given the horrible PR that PMI must be having to deal with in 2009- two cadets murdered in campus in four years- Colonel Murillo as Commandant (President is the actual title at schools like VMI and The Citadel; the Commandant is not the leader of the school but instead is in charge of discipline) would likely want to publicly not just fire Moe Kitchener, but banish him alongside Ryan Stewart and tell everyone outside PMI's gates that not everybody at the Institute is as inept as Stewart or as corrupt and murderous as Kitchener.**

**Jason Gardner is a character I created to give the canon character of Lawrence Gardner some additional humanity; he is a rather ambiguous figure who dies almost as soon as he is revealed as a witness to some pivotal events and a possible Kate-Butler's-murderer suspect. He isn't- sorry if I spoiled that for you- but he dies just as soon as the possibility is even mentioned. We see him as a professional cadet, high-ranking and trusted with great responsibility- including access to certain PMI-owned vehicles. He likely was heavily prejudiced against women being at PMI if he was willing to attack Kate Butler in the show and slice her hand with his sword, but even bigots tend to have people they care about- and sometimes can turn out to be surprisingly normal and even respectable people.**

**Jason Gardner- named for the actor who played Lawrence Gardner, Jason Thomas- is the more human side of Lawrence, still prejudiced but without the razor-sharp edge. Jason hates Kate Butler and celebrates when he thinks she has quit, a belief many are left with for years after her disappearance. But he never wrote Kate Butler any hate mail, and he never attacked her in the shower like Lawrence did. My thought was that Lawrence would share his prejudiced views with his brother but not the extreme form of action they sometimes took. I portray him as still having a conscience, though- his letter is meant to indicate not only that he is starting to question Major Kitchener and his role in past events, but that Lawrence is starting to wonder if his hatred for Kate Butler wasn't somehow misplaced. Naturally Lawrence's other forms of prejudice- looking down on Muslim and especially Arab society and possibly blacks as well- are his views, not mine. I hoped to give Lawrence Gardner some measure of redemption, though, by indicating that he was just starting to revise some of his views, question at least whether murder was really worth it for any reason and whether that was what someone had done to Kate Butler.**

**Lastly, this story was most of all inspired by a single line from the movie "Taking Chance", a powerful and moving film about a Marine lieutenant colonel escorting the body of a KIA Marine private home to the Marine's parents. There is a scene where the LTC is standing out near a cargo plane at the airport, waiting while a number of coffins draped in the American flag are moved from one aircraft to another, and one to a waiting car. An Army staff sergeant is standing nearby, and his words and expression suggest some personal connection to the dead soldier he is escorting home. LTC Strobl asks "Are you related to the deceased, son?" and the staff sergeant replies with visible difficulty, "Yes, sir. He's my brother."**

**So in a sense, this story is meant to illustrate Lawrence Gardner's humanity. I envisioned him as being someone who would be highly respected in the Corps at PMI, and his intelligence and professional manner- and the degree to which PMI's top staff clearly trust him- made me think about how far he would have likely gone in life, had Major Moe Kitchener not killed him for knowing too much. Lawrence would likely have been close with at least one person in his life, and in here I have it be his brother. Lawrence's death pains Jason greatly, something that raises important questions about Lawrence Gardner and what kind of person he really was.**


End file.
